Thursday, April 17, 2003

I don't really know how to describe the atmosphere at home. You don't see anything like it on TV, perhaps in a Dickens novel. Permanent sickness. A hushed silence, curtains always drawn. The real meaning of drudgery comes to life when you look around and realise how shabby the house is. I clean, but there's always activity. Permanent tiredness, lethargy I suppose but its a killer. W spend our weekends asleep. We are preparing for hibernation. A year ago, I saw a prograamme on 4 Irish sisters, and their elderly aunt, devout Catholics, who entered seme sort of pact to starve themselves to death. They prepared meticulously for months. No-one noticed them disappear.

Its pretty obvious that my parents, or more specifically my mother, is on the start of a long process of withdrawal from social activity of any sort.Its not self-willed, but due to the confidence in her health ebbing away.

Right from the time when she first arrived in this country, my father would tell neighbours, and other enquiriers, that she was ill so couldn't come to whatever event in question. Is it social phobia? I know i've fucking got it. I'm incapable of planning things. Witness: I am about to turn 27 and have never gone on holiday by myself. I hav never lived away from home. I do not have a permanent set of friends as such. I've made myself this way deliberately. Was once described as aloof. I think part of doesn't want to admit to existing.